


A Classic Blunder

by imoosedup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Don't Judge Me, I really love the Princess Bride okay, M/M, Princess Bride AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imoosedup/pseuds/imoosedup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you asked Dean who he thought was the most beautiful person in the world was; he would yell at you for wasting his time on such a stupid question, can’t you see he’s busy? He would yell at you to leave him alone before he made you. If you asked him what he thought of Castiel, well.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Princess Bride, it is my favorite book/movie, it has a permanent place on my desk, I can pick it up and flip to the exact page I want and need. So when I thought, what if it was with characters from Supernatural, well.... The idea kind of took off. And so, here I am. With my favorite book/movie, with my favorite characters from my favorite TV show. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

If you asked a person, just any person on the street, who was the most beautiful person they had ever laid eyes on, the girls would giggle and quietly whisper the name of the crown prince before rushing away back to the errands their parents had sent them on. The older men and women would think for a little bit before naming a sweetheart they had had when they were young, a few of them would even name their spouses.

If you asked Dean who he thought was the most beautiful person in the world was; he would yell at you for wasting his time on such a stupid question, can’t you see he’s busy? He would yell at you to leave him alone before he made you.

If you were to ask a person if they thought Castiel Novak was the most beautiful person they had ever seen, most of them would blink in shock, would question you about who he was. They would ask for a portrait of him before saying that yes, he was quite lovely and he would be in their top twenty, but he was not the most beautiful person they had ever seen.

If you mentioned Castiel to Dean, asked him if he thought Castiel was the most beautiful thing the Earth had ever had walk upon its surface, he would pause. He would look down at his feet, boots covered in mud that had long since dried, he would fiddle with whatever was in his hands at the moment before looking up.

His face would be soft and open, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Then he would tell you to stop wasting his time, can’t you see he’s busy? He would tell you to leave him alone before he makes you. But his voice would be kind, and his eyes wouldn’t have an ounce of anger as he told you that.

Dean had worked on the farm where Castiel lived for a very long time. He had gotten the job as a farmhand for a few reasons, all of them good. But they had all flown out of his mind when he had first laid eyes on Zachariah’s nephew. A boy recently orphaned and to quiet for his own good.

Dean had watched him from afar for years before Castiel had even said a word to him.

“Fetch me that pail farmboy.” It had been said in an offhand manner, like Castiel hadn’t really been thinking through what he had said, and Dean had accepted it. He had accepted the fact that Castiel would never see him. Would never see him for anything more than a farmboy, a helping hand for his uncle, and that was all right with Dean, he could handle that.

* * *

 

Castiel was eleven when his aunt and uncle had gotten the farmboy. He had watched as Uncle Zachariah had driven the wagon back from town with the boy sitting in the back of it among the hay and other supplies. He had watched as his uncle had shown the boy to the hovel on the edge of the property. Had watched as his uncle had walked back to the house and the boy went inside the hovel.

Aunt Naomi caught Uncle Zachariah on his way in.

“Did I just see you bring a vagrant onto our property?” she asked. Castiel could tell from her tone that she was planning on starting another fight. His aunt and uncle did not speak to each other in any other way. It was always arguing, each trying to beat the other, only so that they would have the right to say I beat you I am so much cleverer than you.

“We need help this season, the cows aren’t as good with me as they are with you,” Zachariah said. He was losing the days arguments by fifteen, he needed help in order to catch up to his wife. “And since you refuse to go in the barn I got us some cheap labor.”

“And you really think some scrap of a child is going to be of any use?” Naomi clanged the spoon she had been using to stir supper on the edge of the pot. Castiel watched from his corner, not saying a word.

“I think he’s going to be more use than that nephew of yours,” Zachariah sneered. Naomi glanced at Castiel, who was now looking down at his feet.

“You hold your tongue,” she said turning back to the stew. Zachariah chalked a win up onto his mental scoreboard.

“Is he going to stay here?” Castiel asked later. Zachariah had already turned in for the night, leaving Naomi and Castiel to clean up the kitchen.

“He’s going to stay for now, at the very least,” was all his aunt would say.

“Does he have a name?” Some of the boys in town didn’t have any, Castiel counted himself lucky enough to have been given one, a lot of parents wouldn’t bother.

“If he does I don’t want you learning it and getting attached. He’ll most likely die this winter, now clean the table Castiel, I want it spotless.” Naomi ran a hand over Castiel’s head, almost like the way his mother had. Castiel tried not to lean into the touch.

The boy did not die out that winter, nor did he die the winter after that one. Zachariah would often stand in the doorway of the house and smile before saying to his wife in an offhand manner “Good cheap labor, what did I tell you.”

* * *

 

Castiel watched the farmboy, or Dean, as he was called by the simpering girls in the village. Dean was good at what he did, always able to get the animals to do what he wanted while Zachariah blustered his way through. Castiel would sit out under a tree doing his studies while Dean did farm work, glancing at Dean while he should have been doing his sums.

Castiel could still remember the first day Dean had approached him, he had been having trouble with a puzzle his teacher had sent him back with. It was blocks of wood cut in a way that if you put them together right it would be one square. For the life of him Castiel just couldn’t get it to fit together.

A shadow had fallen over him then, he looked up to see Dean standing there. The sun was behind him, silhouetting him so that his face was in shadow.

“Can I see that?” he asked. Dean didn’t often speak to Castiel, he was more likely to do whatever Castiel had asked him to do in silence. Castiel nodded and held out the puzzle.

Dean looked it over before setting to work, within ten minutes a square block of wood was handed back to Castiel. Dean walked back to his work without another word and left Castiel to his schoolwork.

That would start a pattern with them, whenever Castiel seemed to be having trouble with some sort of schoolwork Dean would come along and try his hand at it, he would usually get it done quickly before heading back to his work. Castiel often had to stop himself from looking like he was having trouble, Zachariah was always watching to see if Dean was slacking. Castiel loved those moments, few and far between though they may be.

* * *

 

“What’re you doing in here Cas?” Dean asked. He was mucking out the stalls for the one horse they had on the farm. Castiel was no longer surprised by the nickname that Dean had given him, only Dean seemed to call him that and that was all right by Castiel.

“Aunt Naomi wants to make sure that you have the barn as clean as possible for tomorrow.” Castiel was not looking at the way the shirt clung to Dean’s chest, he was not looking, nope.

“What’s happening tomorrow?”

“The Count is coming for an inspection.” A routine inspection, like they had every five years or so, Zachariah still get worked up even though he most likely had nothing to worry about, most likely.

“All right, can you tell her I’ll get it done?” Castiel nodded. “Thanks, night Cas.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

* * *

 

Naomi’s rough hands tried vainly to smooth Castiel’s hair down. “Can you see their carriage?” she asked Zachariah, moving to straighten Castiel’s shirt.

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything since they could be around the bend,” Zachariah barked at her. He held up a hand to stop Naomi from speaking. “Wait, there they are!”

And there they were. Castiel followed his aunt and uncle outside and was struck dumb by the sight of the carriage. It was out of place on the dirt road that was more mud at this time, all gilded flowers and shining paint. The horses looked like they are insulted by just standing there.

The door to the carriage opened and a man stepped out, he was far too pale and thin to look like he belonged on a farm. He outfit too fancy and cumbersome to be able to do much work on a farm. His mouth was pulled into a sneer and Castiel thought that he had cruel eyes.

Zachariah went up to the Count and bowed deeply. “We are honored that you came all this way to see us my lord.”

“Let’s get this over with,” the Count said. His voice made Castiel shiver, this was the voice of a predator, of someone not to be trifled with. “Anything to declare?” It seemed like this would be one of the more lax inspections.

“No, my lord. Nothing you should know about.” Zachariah bounced up and down on his feet, a smarmy grin on his face.

“What about him?” A pale hand pointed out from the doorway of the carriage, the voice high pitched and sounding bored. Everyone turned to see what the hand was pointing at.

Dean was standing in the background, a bucket in his hands and his eyes growing wide as he realized everyone was looking at him.

“Oh him?” Zachariah turned back to the carriage, and to the pale face that was now sticking out of the doorway. “That’s just my farmboy, he’s of no import.”

“I think I shall decide what is of import and what is not,” the Count said. He helped the Countess out of the carriage and glared at Zachariah. If the Count was someone not to be trifled with then the Countess was someone to outright fear, she had the stink of madness about her. Pale and beautiful but absolutely mad, Castiel shuddered as her eyes landed on him and she smiled.

“I will watch him work,” she said. Her voice had a singsong lilt to it.

“Lilith, are you sure? He won’t work in a clean area,” the Count tried to reason.

“I will watch him,” the Countess repeated before waving Dean to go ahead and following him. Castiel followed her, the Count followed Castiel, and Naomi and Zachariah followed all of them.

Castiel went to bed that night like he always did, in the exact middle of the bed and on his right side. He closed his eyes, expecting to fall to sleep almost right away.

Lilith was staring at Dean.

Castiel got out and poured himself a glass of water; he drank it and got back into bed. Closing his eyes he settled down and sighed.

Lilith was _staring_ at Dean.

Castiel furrowed his brow and Lilith walked over to Dean. She caressed Dean’s cheek with the back of her hand as she watched him with those mad eyes of hers.

Now Dean was looking back at Lilith.

He was smiling down at her in a way that made Castiel’s stomach churn. He was saying things to her, words that Castiel couldn’t hear, and it was driving him mad.

Dean took Lilith into his arms and leaned down until his lips were just about to - Castiel opened his eyes. He sat up in his bed and sat back against the headboard, wrapping his arms around his legs.

What was wrong with him? It was just Dean; Dean could have who he wanted. Dean could run off with a village girl if he wanted to, why would it bother Castiel that Lilith had been _looking_ at Dean.

Except that it did, it bothered him more than when the village girls flipped their hair and batted their eyelashes at Dean, more than when they would sway their hips on the off chance that Dean would look their way. 

It bothered him because Dean had never looked at him the way that he had looked at Lilith.

Oh.

_Oh._

Castiel was jealous, he wanted to have Dean’s attention, to be the only one that Dean would look at with his impossibly green eyes, he wanted to be the reason that Dean smiled, he wanted to be the reason that Dean already full lips were swollen, he wanted to be the one to share soft touches with Dean in the night.

Castiel got out of bed and got dressed. He was at the door to the hovel in what felt like seconds. He knocked on the door gently, at once hoping that Dean would answer and also hoping that Dean wouldn’t.

Dean answered, loose shirt hanging around his shoulders and hair untidy, like he had been running his hands through it. How Castiel loved it.

“I love you,” the words weren’t what Castiel had been planning to say but he decided to keep going. “I’ve loved you for a very long time I think, I love the way you work with animals so gently, I love the way your hair is sometimes blond and sometimes brown, I love the freckles on your face. Did you know you had them? The freckles I mean, you can only really see them in the right light but I love them all the same.” Castiel took a deep breathe, steeling himself before looking into the eyes that he loved so much.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean shut the door in Castiel’s face.

Castiel stood there for a moment, waiting for Dean to come out and say something, anything. He would take a ‘I’m sorry but I don’t feel the same way’ at this point. As long as Dean would come back out and say _something._

Dean didn’t come out, and eventually Castiel went back to his house and back to his quiet bedroom.

Castiel didn’t sleep that night.

He was downstairs at the crack of dawn, Naomi and Zachariah weren’t down yet, leaving it to Castiel to get everything ready for the day. There was a knock on the door. Castiel opened it to see Dean, with a pack on his back.

“I’m leaving,” Dean said. Castiel leaned against the door jamb. Dean’s words had hit him like a blow.

“Oh,” it was a quiet sound, barely heard above Castiel’s breath.

“I’m going to America to seek my fortune.”

“I hope you find it,” Castiel smiled weakly at Dean. He thought that his heart had to be making an audible breaking sound, could anyone else hear the shattering crashes?

“When I have enough I’ll send for you, will you wait for me?” Dean asked the last part almost shyly.

Castiel’s mouth flopped open, he closed it and opened it again this time meaning to say something. He didn’t, Castiel didn’t think he was capable of speech at this moment.

“What?” he managed finally.

“Will you wait for me?” Dean repeated. “I know it’s gonna be a while, I mean it’s not exactly easy to make a fortune, but I think I could do it in a few years.”

“But,” Castiel began. “But you didn’t say anything, you closed the door in my face.” Something wasn’t adding up in his head, how did Dean shutting the door without a word equal this?

“Yeah, you kinda caught me by surprised.” Dean scratched the back of his head. “But my question still stands, will you wait for me?”

“Yes,” Castiel said this time.

Dean smiled, “Good.” He leaned down then, catching Castiel’s mouth with his own. Dean had had a few kisses he would call perfect, Lisa had been at the front of the list with the way she had nipped at his lip. This one blew them all out of the water.

The way Castiel surged forward, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and pulled him closer, the way he moved against Dean and with Dean, flicking his tongue along Dean’s lip was almost sinful. He let it go on for a minute before pulling away from Castiel.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said, leaning his forehead against Castiel’s. “I’ll write as often as I can.”

“Goodbye,” Castiel said, giving Dean one last kiss before he left. Castiel watched him go, watched him until he was out of sight.

Naomi came in then, tying her apron around her waist before she caught sight of Castiel leaning in the open doorway.

“What are you doing there?” she asked coming up behind Castiel.

“Watching Dean go,” was all Castiel said before he went back to his room.

Castiel got four letters from Dean before his ship set off for America. With those four letters he realized he was well and truly screwed. If Castiel had thought he was in love with Dean before it was the letters that convinced him that it was the permanent kind, the kind everyone says they have but very rarely do; the kind of love that you never get over and can never hope to recover from.

Which is why when Dean’s death hit him so hard.

Naomi had never seen her nephew react to anything with much feeling. He was a quiet child and an even quieter teenager. He didn’t speak often and when he did it always surprised her. The only person she had seen him ever speak to willingly was the farmboy, something she had worried over but had let go.

Now her nephew, the son of her sister, the boy she had promised to try and love was sitting in his room in complete silence. Not eating the food she brought him and not leaving his chair for anything.

Even Zachariah, the husband who she couldn’t quite find it in herself to love, found it worrisome. He had never been fond of Castiel, but he had grown used to the presence in his home.

It had been Zachariah to break it to Castiel about Dean.

“They say it was pirates,” Zachariah couldn’t quite look Castiel in the eye as he said it. “They say that the Dread Pirate Benson attacked their ship.” Benson was known not to leave any survivors. Castiel had swallowed thickly before leaving his seat and shutting the door to his room.

Castiel came out three days later, he was not the same boy to have entered the room. His blues eyes were tired now, his hair even more of a mess than ever, and stubble graced his cheeks. Castiel had entered the room as a young boy who had just had his entire world shattered around him, he left the world as a man who had lost everything and now had no hope left for happiness.

Castiel was nineteen years of age, and he had lost the greatest love he would ever know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go after him!” He heard Crowley shout. 
> 
> “I can’t swim,” said the tall man. 
> 
> “I can only dogpaddle,” Meg told him.
> 
> “You’re all bloody useless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for quote paraphrasing.
> 
> I would've updated sooner but I've been sick and slightly vindictive, forgive me.

Lucifer watched the young man walk through the market place, a basket in his hand and an empty expression on his face. Lucifer tilted his head to the side as he watched the man.

“Are you sure he’s the one?” he asked the man beside him.

“Oh yes, can’t you see it? People would love him,” said the Count.

“Yes, yes they would,” Lucifer agreed.

Lucifer approached the man at a stall, people backing away from him and making room. None of them daring to be closer than necessary in case they angered their prince.

“You there,” he called to the man. “What is your name?”

“Castiel, your highness,” the man bowed his head with the words.

“Castiel,” Lucifer tried the name in his mouth, tasting the sounds it made. “Castiel, I propose a marriage between us.”

“I refuse,” Castiel said, his head still down and his eyes still on the ground.

“I am your prince, you cannot refuse me.”

“I am your loyal subject, and I just did.” Lucifer thought he heard a spark of anger in the voice.

“If you do not marry me than I shall have you killed.”

Castiel looked up then, anger in his eyes but not on his face. “I shall never love you.”

Lucifer chuckled. “I wouldn’t want it if you offered it on a silver platter.”

“Then I shall marry you.”

* * *

 

The crowd in the courtyard waited with bated breath. They had been waiting four years for this moment, four years of hearing about the prince’s beloved, about how he was fair and just and kind. Four years of hearing stories about how clever he was. The crowd had gotten tired of waiting.

Then their prince, the prince they all were a bit scared of announced to them all the name of his beloved and showed him off at last.

The stories had not done him justice.

Castiel’s hair had once been unruly, unable to be tamed by a simple comb, now its dark brown tresses lay gently down and was only slightly ruffled by the breeze. His blue eyes shown bright under dark brows, and if he looked tired nobody was going to mention it, where he had once been a skinny scrawny child, he was now slightly muscular, his was a very handsome face. He stood straight by Lucifer’s side.

But he did not smile.

In the corner of a courtyard, a group of three people stood, plotting away in the bright light of day.

Behind them, in the dark corner of the walls, were the temperature dropped and nobody bothered going near, a man in black stood. He glared up at the prince and his beloved.

Murder was in his eyes.

* * *

 

Castiel had few things he enjoyed; one of them had been discovered in his second year with Lucifer. He loved to ride his horse. He rode on his own in the lonely hills far from any of the cottages or houses that surrounded the castle. Castiel would ride for hours on end when he could, it was the only time he could be truly alone.

It was while he was riding that he met three travelers, a tall man that would tower over Castiel if he wasn’t on a horse, with long hair and an apologetic look on his face. A woman with curly dark hair and had a sword clasped to her belt, a hand rested over it easily, a smirk crossed her face as she looked Castiel over. She winked at him. The last was a shorter man, scruff covering his chin and cheeks, he was dressed finely for a man with the company he kept.

“Sire,” the third man asked. His voice was gentle and just slightly sarcastic. “We are three lonely travelers; do you know a village nearby where we can stay for the night?”

“No, there’s no one here for miles,” Castiel answered him.

The man smiled, “Good, then no one will here you.” He motioned to the tall man to move forward. Before Castiel could even get his horse to turn around a cloth rag was shoved in his face and the smell of chemicals overwhelmed him.

Water was hitting something, rope chafed at his wrists, and there were people arguing. Those were the first things Castiel noticed when he woke up.

“Crowley, I don’t think this is a good idea.” The voice was male but not the same syrupy slick voice as the one Castiel had spoken to, this was the voice of the taller man. He sounded young, young and angry.

“I don’t pay you to think,” the third man, Crowley Castiel guessed, said. “I pay you to follow orders.”

“I don’t know about this boss, it kinda has a stink to it.” The woman spoke up.

“Meg darling, if I wanted your opinion I would ask. Now why don’t you all shut up and do as I say?” Crowley shouted the last part.

Castiel opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor of a boat, and the sun had set long ago, the moon was hidden behind clouds, making the night nearly pitch black. The floor was rocking beneath him. His hands and feet were tied and Crowley stood with his back to him while he watched the taller man and the woman, Meg, get ready for something. The sail of the boat was full and Castiel could feel them move swiftly across the water.

“Hey,” Meg said, looking back at where they had just come. “Did you say this was the fastest boat on the water?”

Crowley snorted, “Of course I did, like I wouldn’t get the best.”

The taller man looked back over the water as well, eyes catching sight of something. “You sure about that?” he asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” Crowley was irritated now.

“Because I think there is someone who is going to test that theory right now.” Meg pointed at something, Crowley turned and promptly swore.

“Impossible! There is no way there is a boat faster than this one!”

“Maybe he has a faster breeze,” Meg smirked.

“Oh shut up,” Crowley thought for a moment, “He’s just some fisher out for a little late night boating with some bimbo.”

“Yeah, and he just happens to be following us,” said the taller man. “And he also just so happens to be catching up.”

Crowley turned back to them, calling Meg and the taller man’s attention to him. Castiel saw his chance.

“Now you all know your roles to play?” he asked them. The tall man nodded while Meg opened her mouth to speak. A splash in the water interrupted her.

Castiel bobbed in the water, the knots on the rope around his ankles coming loose. He kicked free of the rope and started swimming to shore.

“Go after him!” He heard Crowley shout.

“I can’t swim,” said the tall man.

“I can only dogpaddle,” Meg told him.

“You’re all bloody useless.”

Castiel had made some headway, but he was fighting the current and that would mean time wasted, he needed to get to shore before his strength ran out.

“Excuse me, highness,” Crowley called over the water. Castiel stilled, taking a moment to catch his breath. “Did you know these waters are just filled to the brim with sharks? Just a drop of blood is enough to send them into a frenzy.”

No, Castiel had not known that. Castiel worked at the rope still binding his wrists together. If he could get them loose he would have a better chance of getting away.

“If you don’t come back to the boat I am going to cut my arm, and when the blood stops there I will cut my other arm and then my leg, I will bleed until I have a cup full of blood. If you have not come back to the boat by then I will throw the cup overboard and let the sharks do the work for me.”

Castiel was almost out of the rope, his hands were numb with cold and that made it harder to work at the knots. He heard a pained gasp from his left.

“He just cut his arm,” Meg called from the boat. Panic seized Castiel by his collarbone; he felt like he was being squeezed by it. Another pained gasp, “He just cut the other arm, the cup is halfway full.”

The moon came out then.

“There he is!” Crowley cried. Strong arms grabbed Castiel and dropped him onto the floor of the boat.

The tall man checked him over with gentle hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to Castiel.

“Knew we’d get you,” Crowley gloated.

“No you didn’t,” Castiel said around chattering teeth.

“Yes I did, now be quiet,” Crowley growled.

“You would have thrown the blood overboard and let the sharks get me, but you would not have gotten me if the moon had stayed behind the clouds.”

“Either way you would’ve ended up dead, I just happen to be more merciful than the sharks,” Crowley smiled and somehow Castiel was unsure about whether or not the sharks would have been the worse option. 

They made it across the channel and were at the cliffs now. The boat was disposed of with a hole in the bottom of it, Meg held Castiel still while he was tied to the tall man. She glanced back across the channel.

“The boat’s still there, you can see the man on it now,” she said it like someone would say the sky was blue, kind of bored and like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Crowley cursed. “Get a move on,” he told the tall man. The tall man, whose name happened to be Sam, it was just that few people asked him for his name and even fewer people used it when they knew it, moved to the rope. He clasped it in his hands and started climbing.

There are few people who have been able to match Sam in strength, one who had been close had been his brother, but Sam hadn’t seen his brother in years. Sam was able to beat down men twice his size, he had made a living as a fighter before Crowley had found him. Now he worked for Crowley, mostly doing the heavy lifting, like now. Now he was carrying some poor guy to his death, and there was very little Sam could do to stop Crowley.

Sam climbed hand over hand, using his legs when a foothold was provided but mostly just using the power of his arms.

Crowley and Meg climbed up after him, each one envying the man strapped to Sam’s back.

Castiel watched the ground grow farther with each breath Sam took. By the time they were two hundred feet up the man in black had landed next to the now sunken boat. The man in black started climbing after them.

Castiel felt frightened.

Crowley pulled Meg up onto the cliff, he pulled a knife out and quickly began cutting through the rope. When he was done the rope went over the edge with a snap. Crowley allowed himself a quick smile and was just about to gloat when Meg said “He made it,” with awe in her voice.

Crowley looked over the edge. “I can’t believe it!” The man had been able to catch hold of the cliff before the rope had been cut, and now he was slowly, painstakingly, climbing up the cliff face.

“I hate to say it, but I’m impressed,” Meg said as she untied Castiel from Sam’s back.

“Meg, you stay here and if he actually makes it up the cliff I want you to finish him,” Crowley ordered.

“If you say so boss, but I’m going to fight him with my left hand.”

“I don’t care if you fight him with your dance skills, just make sure he’s dead before you catch up to us!” And with that, Crowley, Sam, and Castiel headed down the dirt path, leaving Meg behind to deal with the man in black.

Meg hated waiting, always had. If she was being perfectly honest with herself that was the reason Crowley was in charge, she just didn’t have what it takes to deal with their clientele.

She looked over the edge, the man had climbed a few feet more in the ten minutes since the rope had been cut, but he didn’t look like he was going to be able to get to the top anytime soon.

“Do you think you could speed it up just a little?” she called down to him.

“Y’know, if you want me to hurry up you could throw me some rope,” the man called back, he grabbed another small ledge and levered himself up another inch or so.

“See, there might be a bit of a problem with that, I’m up here to kill you.”

A pause, and then “That’s kind of a problem.”

Meg thought for a bit. “I could throw you the rope and promise not to kill you until you reach the top.”

“No good,” grunt. “I can’t trust you.”

Meg paced along the cliffs edge, thinking, before she stopped. “I promise on what is left on my father Azazel, you will reach the top alive.”

“Throw me the rope.”

The man climbed while Meg pulled and soon the man in black was on top of the cliff. He reached for his sword but Meg stopped him.

“We’ll wait until you’re ready, more fun that way.”

The man nodded his thanks before sitting down on a rock to rest. Meg eyed his right hand, the man caught her stare.

“Just making sure you have five fingers, sweetheart,” she explained.

“And that means?”

“It means that if you had six I would kill you right now without waiting.”

“Do I even want to know?” the man asked.

“A six fingered man is the reason why I swore on what’s left of my father.”

The man nodded, standing up he unsheathed his blade, and Meg took note that he held it in his left hand. Good, she thought, this is gonna be fun.

They crossed blades, each one striking fast and moving with just enough time to block the blow the other struck at them with. Blades singing in the air as Meg worked her way around the field, feet nimbly moving over the small stones as they fought each other.

The man was good, Meg couldn’t see his face behind the mask he wore but she thought that his face would be serene while they fought, most men she dueled would scream and moan and make faces at her, trying to distract her in the hopes that they would beat her faster.

This man was silent, not speaking and not even breathing heavily with the way he was exerting himself against Meg. This guy could fight, this guy could fight well.

Meg began to feel a little worried.

She managed to be the first to draw blood, a small cut on his arm, but she still took pride in it.

That was a mistake, the man started to fight in earnest, moving fast enough that Meg was having trouble getting her blade in position to block it in time.

She smiled, and that made the man falter his steps a little. Made him pause in his attack, and that was his mistake.

Meg switched the blade from her left hand to her right and took off. While she had been quick with her left hand, no one could catch her with her right; Meg had taken down whole crowds of men when she used her blade with her right hand.

The fight was turning in her favor, she was going to win. Meg paused, letting the man in black take a breath, and that was her final mistake.

The man switched hands too.

Now Meg was back on the defense, somehow, and she was never sure how, the blade her father had made was twisted out of her grip. It fell to far away for her to get it. The man’s sword was pressed against her throat.

“Well, get on with it,” she told him.

“Another time maybe,” he said. Meg didn’t get a chance to even wonder at his words before she was knocked unconscious.

The man tied her up and left her, with her sword lying next to her.

The man followed the path that Sam and Crowley had taken earlier, his feet moving swiftly along it as he headed once more after what he sought.

“Bloody Hell,” Crowley said. He had happened to look behind him, to see if Meg had finally decided to show up. Instead he had caught sight of that horrible man in black. This was turning into a nightmare.

“You,” he said to Sam. “You wait here while I take Castiel onwards, and make sure you actually kill him.” Crowley was tugging Castiel down the path before he had finished giving Sam his orders.

Sam was by no means a giant. He was tall and that was it, his brother had used to make fun of him for it. Right up until Sam had ran away to join the circus. He had never seen his brother again, that had been his biggest regret. Well, second biggest. The first was joining Crowley.

Why he had ever thought that joining Crowley was a good idea he would never know, it had been a moment of weakness, a moment of weakness that seemed to keep going on forever.

Sam picked up a rock and hefted its weight; he caught sight of the man in black as he rounded a corner. Sam threw it and missed by inches.

“I didn’t have to miss,” he told the man.

“I believe you,” the man said. The man cleared his throat. “Well, aren’t you going to try again?”

“No,” Sam shook his head. “What we’re going to do is fight.”

The man nodded, “Hand to hand?” Sam nodded. “Sounds about as fair as you can get,” the man unbuckled his sword from his belt and set it aside. Sam watched him.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you wear a mask?”

Sam could just see the man’s eye wink at him from underneath the mask. “Because they’re comfy as hell, kid,” the man said.

The man circled Sam, looking for an opening for an attack. Sam kept his stance open, ready for whatever the man would come at him with. When he finally did it was with a punch, Sam blocked it easily and made a grab at the man. The man slipped out of it and jabbed at Sam, this time his hit landed, knocking the breath out of Sam for a moment.

They kept going like that, just when one thought he had the upper hand the other would do something, slip out of range, twist a nerve, anything so that they wouldn’t be defeated. They were evenly matched, something that hadn’t happened to Sam in a long time.

It was a simple mistake that brought Sam down; he slipped on something, a rock, a wet patch of grass, just something, the next thing he knew the man’s arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

Sam couldn’t breathe, he gasped as his lungs screamed for air that wouldn’t come. His vision began to blur, darkening along the edges of his sight, until he stopped struggling and blacked out.

The man let Sam fall to the ground, turning him over the man finally got a good look at the face of his opponent.

“Aw shit,” the man said. The man took something from around his neck and wrapped it around Sam’s wrist. “Find me Sammy,” he said.

The man grabbed his sword and set off at a jog, heading after his final obstacle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve fallen for one of the few classic blunders, the first and most well-known is ‘never pay a whore in advance’, and the second is ‘never try to cheat a cheater’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for blatant paraphrasing of quotes.

Lucifer stood at the top of the cliff and looked on the ground, eyes parsing through the dried trampled grass and the dirt that was so rarely disturbed.

He was in his element.

Lucifer had been called many things, monster and demon being among the most common. He had a penchant of making those people disappear. Which led to more people calling him a monster and led to more disappearances, it was a never ending circle that he took enjoyment out of.

Lucifer was good at many things, but hunting was his passion. When he had gotten bored of hunting animals he had started with people, hunting down criminals with a ferocity that some people commended. Some people said he was going too far when those criminals he had hunted would never be seen again. Some people loved him with a passion, saying that this was a prince that would take care of their borders. Others hated him, with good reason too.

Lucifer knelt, fingers just brushing over the dirt, grazing the edge of a droplet of blood. He grinned to himself; this was going to be an exciting day.

“There was a fight here,” he said to the Count. The Count kept his face blank, he had seen Lucifer hunt only once before, and that had scared him enough to never follow Lucifer on his hunts again.

Lucifer stood and followed the marks in the dirt with his feet, playing out the scene in his head as he moved his feet along the ground.

“They were masters,” he paused. “Or better, the loser went off that way.” He pointed off to the east, where a path leading to a safer but longer way down the cliff. “The winner followed the same path we’re going to follow.”

The sun beat down on them, making them sweat in the afternoon light.

“Do you want me to send men after the loser?” the Count asked.

Lucifer shook his head. “We don’t need to be wasting man power right now; we need to find my fiancé.”

Lucifer set off down the path, followed by the Count and the few armed men he had brought.

A smile was on Lucifer’s face, he was never as happy as when there was a possible kill on the horizon.

* * *

 

The man in black rounded a corner and came upon a strange scene. Crowley had set up a picnic for him, a handkerchief was spread across a small rock, with bread and cheese set out, two cups and a bottle of wine was set to the side. Castiel was sitting blindfolded next to Crowley.

A knife was at Castiel’s throat.

The blade was silver and sharp and glinting in the moonlight, was pressed against Castiel’s throat, he had felt it draw blood from him already.

The man approached slowly, arms outstretched so Crowley could see he was unarmed.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Crowley told him. “I’m nervous you see, I get shaky hands and I wouldn’t want to cut poor Castiel here if my hands get uncontrollable.”

“Please, let me explain,” the man in black began, taking one step forward.

“You’re killing him!” Crowley called, jabbing the knife at Castiel’s throat, a small trail of blood ran down Castiel’s throat.

“You kill him and I swear you won’t live to see the sun rise.”

“You’re trying to take what I have rightfully stolen, that would be enough to set any man off,” Crowley looked the man over. “I’ll make you a deal, I suddenly get over my nerves and let you come forward, on the condition you don’t kill me right away. Sound fair?” The man nodded and approached slowly, he sat down in front of Crowley, crossing his legs and resting his arms on his knees.

“So, what do we do now?” the man asked.

“Oh,” Crowley grinned. “I could think of all sorts of things.”

The man snorted and shook his head slightly, “Pour the wine.”

Crowley poured and set a cup in front of the man, the man took a small vial out from a pocket and held it out to Crowley. “Smell this and tell me what you think it is.”

Crowley sniffed, “There’s nothing there.”

“Wrong, what is in there is iocane. You do know what that is, right?” Crowley nodded, if he held the vial of white powder more gingerly after that then the man decided not to mention it. “Good, cause I hate explaining shit.”

The man took the cups and turned so that Crowley could not see as he poured the powder, when the man turned back he placed the cups back on the small stone, one in front of each of them.

“Now, pick a glass.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You really think I am just going to poison myself, how stupid do you think I am?”

“Do you really want an answer?”

Crowley just glared at the man.

“Look, you pick a cup and drink from it I’ll drink from the other cup at the same time. That sound like a plan?”

“I definitely haven’t heard a worse one today,” Crowley drawled.

The man waved at the full cups, “All right, so pick one.”

“Hold on,” Crowley held up a hand. “Let me enjoy this. It’s not often someone challenges me.” The man crossed his arms and waited. “You beat my swordswoman so clearly you’ve studied. Unless you happened to trick her into losing the fight,” Crowley glanced up at the man. “But I don’t think you did, so you should know that man has this habit of dying, and knowing that you would want to put the cup with the poison as far from you as possible. So I can’t pick the cup in front of me. But you have also beaten my muscle, and that would make you think that you could survive this, stupid idea by the way, so I really can’t pick the cup in front of you.”

The man in black fidgeted.

“You’re not gonna get me to tell you which one it’s in,” the man said sounding nervous.

“Oh, but you’ve given everything away, darling. You’ve told me right,” Crowley looked over the man’s shoulder. “What the hell is that?”

The man turned, “I don’t see anything.”

“Must have been my imagination,” Crowley waved a hand, dismissing the subject and focusing back on the one at hand. “I’ve chosen, drink up.”

Crowley picked up the cup in front of him. The man picked up the other, and they drank. They set down the now empty cups, Crowley chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” asked the man.

“Oh, it’s just that you picked the wrong cup,” Crowley let out what could only be described as a giggle.

“No I didn’t,” said the man.

“Yes you did, I switched the cups when you weren’t looking,” Crowley let out a loud laugh. “You’ve fallen for one of the few classic blunders, the first and most well-known is ‘never pay a whore in advance’, and the second is ‘never try to cheat a cheater’.” Crowley fell over dead, a smile still on his face.

The man took the blindfold off of Castiel before he started untying his wrists.

“Oh, it seems you’ve won.” Castiel’s voice was hoarse, it had been the first time he had spoken in hours. “I thought Crowley had won with the way he was speaking.”

“Yeah well, you can’t always believe what you hear,” the man said as he rubbed at Castiel’s wrists to get the blood flowing again.

“So the poison was in your cup all along,” Castiel said. It was just verging on being a question, but it toed the line just enough that it was still a statement.

“Nope, it was in both of them. I built up an immunity over the years, figured it might be handy.” The man said. “And look what planning ahead does for ya.”

The man tugged Castiel back on to his feet, “C’mon, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time.”

They set off at a run, with the man pulling Castiel along after him. The ground was rough with dips in the terrain and rocks scattered across it, all lying in wait to trip Castiel up. When he did trip the man would wait until Castiel righted himself before setting off again, never glancing back more than a moment to make sure that Castiel had not hurt himself.

“Stop!” Castiel said finally, “I need a moment.” The man stopped, letting his hand let go of Castiel’s, he crossed his arms as Castiel leaned over, resting his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily.

“You gonna try and threaten me?” the man asked, sounding genuinely curious. “You gonna tell me that your true love is gonna catch me and string me up for this?” The sarcastic edge to the man’s voice made Castiel flinch.

“No,” Castiel said between panting breathes. He looked around; taking note of the steep ravine they were standing above, seeing the rocks at the bottom of it.

“What? Do you have so little faith in your prince?”

“I meant no, I’m not going to threaten you. It would be foolish since he will come for you, and he will kill you if you don’t let me go.”

The man laughed, cruel and biting. “Your love must be strong for this guy.”

“I never said I loved him,” Castiel said quietly.

“An honest man, admitting that you don’t love the guy you’re marrying. I bet you wouldn’t know what love was if it bit you in the ass.”

Castiel felt his anger rising, molten hot and begging for release. “I loved once,” he murmured, his eyes strayed to the ravine once more, opportunity reared its head at him, calling to him to use it.

“Another rich man was it? Old and just rich enough to last you a while I bet.”

“No,” Castiel turned his glare to the man. “He was poor, poor and beautiful. And he died for it.”

The man slapped Castiel across the face, “That’s what you get for lying,” the whisper was full of anger.

“You call me a liar?” Anger made Castiel see red. “I died that day!” The man turned from Castiel, giving him the opening that he needed. “And you can die too for all I care,” Castiel said.

Castiel shoved hard against the man’s back, sending him head over heels down the ravine.

The man cursed the entire way down, in the imaginative way that Castiel had not heard in years, in a way that almost made him think of green eyes and soft smiles.

Castiel stood at the top as the man finally fell against the bottom of the ravine. He watched with satisfaction as he waited to see if the man was still living. The man yelled something back at Castiel, just loud enough for him to catch it.

“God dammit, Cas.”

Castiel’s heart stuttered, that was what Dean had called him, all those years ago when they had first met. When Castiel had sat underneath the tree and watched Dean work, what Dean had whispered against Castiel’s lips as they parted the last time.

“Oh my God,” Castiel whispered.

Castiel didn’t think it through, in hindsight he knew that he should have. Being at the bottom of a ravine is never a good thing, ask anybody.

But when you think that something you had lost long ago is within your grasp, something that you had loved in a permanent way, something that made it feel like there was a black hole where your heart had once been, and that something is at the bottom of a very steep ravine, you don’t stay at the top.

So, Castiel did something stupid. He jumped down the ravine, quickly losing the footing he had been hoping to keep. He fell just like the man he had pushed down fell, head over heels.


End file.
